


Boomslang

by ripplegrin



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Dragons, Poisoning, Snakes, Tarkir, defang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ripplegrin/pseuds/ripplegrin
Summary: Teague travels to Tarkir to find a cure to his immortality and experiences a very bad no good nasty day while there.





	Boomslang

Stab wounds were annoying at best. A spear through the chest would be fixed in less than a minute. Incineration was as common and interesting as yawning. Tarkir was at least interesting for the variety of ways you can die. Teague brushed through prehistoric ferns, black tar bogs and only occasionally lost a limb to the horrors of the swamp. The hissing that fueled the animal songs of the swamp were only occasionally actual snakes. Nagas, that attempted to assault him as a sacrifice to something called Silumgar, were quickly thwarted as their blades made contact yet no effect.

“Can’t stop.” A phrase spoken under his breath with every few steps. He was searching for something. A cure perhaps? A way to remove hexes? The only one who knew was himself. The hissing rose in volume, reaching a crescendo, before one-night black serpent embedded its fangs into the visible skin of his leg. An annoyed click came from his mouth as he ripped the poor cobra off and tossed it much farther than he expected. Add killed a snake to the list of sins he has committed. Flesh knit itself over the wound, but something still felt wrong. His eyes bulged for a moment as he stumbled around like a drunkard.

Poison. Wounds took moments, yes, but poison always took longer and hurt much worse. With two heavy stumbling steps, he fell to his knees. The taste of fresh coins filled his mouth. Blood dribbled from the roof of his mouth and mixed with the broth-like waters of the swamp. Their mind was a chaotic cyclone peaked with drops of blood coming from the nostril, joining the mouth drops in the swamp. Blood, saliva, and half-digested came as well. Tears fell with the other droplets and they were of a similar crimson hue. A behemoth was stepping on his lungs and slowly kept pushing down. Death was only a half-step away.

And it was gone. The first tries are always the most painful and energizing parts of his life. His head was still being beat like a festival drum, but his steps were no longer a drunkard. More fangs took into his skin and the pain from it died in moments by the end. Several poor snakes were in the beyond now and he finally found what he was looking for. Mossy stone bricks of a long-forgotten hut that lasted much longer than any normal structure should ever last. The sounds of nature silenced themselves with each step into the ruin. A diminutive crate, enveloped in magic drenched runes, lied hidden under several fern leaves and yet another irritated snake. The only thing that hurt at this point was his feelings. The runes smoldered and activated, leading to a familiar voice of who told him to come here to speak.

“Wonderful job, Teague! I must say I am excited to help you. Inside of this is a list of walkers that might help your predicament! I know I said that it would be the cure itself, but I wanted to make sure your magic works as I thought it did beforehand. Good luck and godspeed, Cordyceps. Also, be wary for dragons! ~” It was upbeat and had soft feminine tones. He expected something like this. A little bit of force opened the crate, revealing a small piece of parchment that he quickly tucked under his armor. A roar came from behind him and the scent of acid surrounded the area, thankfully ridding the scent of the bog with it.

Dragon was a strong term for the excessive lizard who was perched on half of the ruins. Its head was much more snake-like and the body was rounded, stuffed with fresh meals of massive quantities. Overgrown fangs seemed like the tusks of an adult boar and the wings looked like they were made of glass membranes. Noxious saliva became clouds as it neared Teague, burning at his flesh but not due to heat. The pain was weaker than he expected. A single step closer caused the dragon to lash out and bite into his arm. No pain. His other arm gently grabbed one of the overgrown tusks, he thought at that moment being a dentist wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be and he ripped the tooth from the poor dragon’s jaw. Birds scattered from the air rending roar and, if it was anyone but teague, their eardrums would have burst. That regeneration was almost instantaneous. The dragon roared once more and fled with its tail…. Flying behind it really. On that nice ending, Teague decided to read the first name on the note.

“Who the hell is Femke Tillen?”


End file.
